


These Are The Moments

by maydei



Series: The Fate Of The Moment [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Side Story, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: These are the moments that were lost in the rush for the gold, and the things that were built within them.A collection of side-stories in no particular order that go with the story ofFatum ad Momentum.





	1. Basal Needs: The Making of Borscht

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fatum ad Momentum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9653123) by [maydei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An excerpt from Chapter Five, where Yuuri and Yurio tag team making Victor's lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your continued support of Fatum ad Momentum. Since I've now come up with a few side stories, I thought I would share them here for easy bookmarking and finding. These will be told in no particular order, but each will start with the chapter it was taken from for easy reference.
> 
> [also on tumblr.](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/158410432577/for-a-prompt-maybe-yurio-and-yuuri-bonding-over)

“Mari-oneechan, I need the kitchen,” Yuuri said, flustered, as he charged in after Victor had left for the Ice Castle. He was intent on choreographing their new routines, and Yuuri was intent on making something delicious to thank him for it.

“What?” Mari demanded. “Why? Yuuri, I have the breakfast service, then I have to start prep for lunch—”

“It’s for Victor.” Yuuri looked down at his feet and scuffed his toe on the floor. He was embarrassed to confess as much to his sister, but… Mari had let Victor make those cabbage rolls, right? Surely, Yuuri could borrow the kitchen, too. He  _lived_  here. “I wanted to make him something for lunch. Since he cooked for me the other night.”

Mari turned her fond–but–unimpressed look in his direction. “But… Yuuri, you don’t really… cook.”

“I know….” Yuuri sighed softly. She was right. This was an awful idea. Yuuri should just… think of something else.

“Oi, Katsudon! We should go for a run before it gets too hot, you fatty—what are you doing in here?”

Yuuri spun on a dime; tried to play off his reddened cheeks as the kitchen’s heat. “Yurio-kun! Ah, nothing. Really, it’s nothing, I just—”

“He wants to make lunch for Victor,” Mari drawled behind him. “But he can’t cook to save his life. You look like a kid that’s familiar in a kitchen. Want to help him out?”

Yurio’s eyes narrowed. He looked from Yuuri to Mari, back and forth, shrewd and unforgiving. “Are you telling me you went through college without being able to feed yourself?”

 _“_ Okaasan and I always fed him,” Mari interrupted before Yuuri could defend himself.

Yuuri deflated. Maybe he really was useless.

Yurio scoffed. “Having a family will do that to you.“ Still, he trailed off, and frowned heavily at Yuuri. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t let Victor starve, or he won’t make good routines. But don’t let this get to be a habit.” He pointed a finger between Yuuri’s eyes, expression sharp and accusatory. “If anyone’s getting credit for this, it’s me.”

“Deal.”

Yurio seemed taken aback, but scoffed when he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “Fine. But I need beets and cabbage and carrots and sausage and potatoes, at  _least_ , if you want to make this work.”

“And the dill’s fresh in the fridge,” Mari added. 

They both turned to look at her. Her cheeks pinkened. “I noticed Victor use it last time, so I looked up some Russian recipes. Sue me.”

“At least one of you is adept at living.” Yurio shook his head, then shook it off. “Katsudon, you’re in charge of chopping the vegetables. Two large potatoes, one onion, and four beets.“ Yuuri stared at him. Yurio flushed. “Go on!”

Yuuri snapped to attention and got to work. In the time it took Yurio to get the package of sausage prepared, Yuuri had barely peeled all the vegetables. 

Yurio hip-checked him away from the sink. “Hopeless,” he grumbled. He peeled the vegetables efficiently and with no nonsense, and banished Yuuri to foil-line a baking sheet instead. It seemed like Yuuri had only done that much by the time the vegetables had been chopped and Yurio was arranging them in sections on the wide, flat metal pan. 

“You’re so good at this,” Yuuri said in wonder.

Yurio to succumbed to embarrassment sometimes, it seemed. “Yeah, well…” he grumbled. “…Grandpa taught me. He used to cook for Grandma when she was sick. Then he taught me so I could cook for Mom.”

“That was kind of him,” Yuuri said quietly, smiling to himself as he slid the baking sheet into the oven. “Mari tried to teach me, but I’m not any good.”

“O-oh. Well… Russians do everything better.” Yurio tilted his chin up, and absolutely did not feel heat high on his cheekbones when Yuuri turned to grin at him.

“I’ve noticed.” Yuuri nodded at the sausage, salted and peppered in its package with the plastic peeled back. “Do we need to do something with that?”

Over time and hours, the vegetables came out of the oven. The sausage browned on the stove. Together, they salted, watered, and seasoned a large pot to boil the meat and vegetables together, and Mari watched over it while they jogged with Makkachin gallivanting between them. When they returned more than an hour later, it was ready.

“You might as well taste it,” Yurio said, and frowned as he dug through Mari’s drawers for a spoon. “It’s good. I know it’s good. My grandpa made this recipe.”

So when Yuuri did, and Yuuri smiled, there really was no good reason for Yurio to light up the way he did, but he did.

“Let’s put it in the obento,” Yuuri said with a firm nod. “And the rice, and the salad, and the egg. We should go before it gets cold.” 

Yurio frowned at the small box on the counter. “This won’t fit very much…” 

“Fill two of the compartments. We can put the egg with the salad.”

Yurio carefully ladeled two heaping spoonfulls of the borscht into the box, which was not nearly enough in his opinion—but Victor would have to live.

He frowned at the box. At the work they had put into it. At how nice it felt, weaving between Yuuri and Mari in this unfamiliar place, this strange, restaurant-style kitchen—and how much he liked it.

“Fine,” he mumbled. He rounded on Yuuri one last time, finger pointed at him again, accusatory. “Fine. But if he asks, this was definitely _not_ my idea.”

 

 


	2. Tangles: Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An excerpt from Chapter Ten, where Yuuri and Victor have a quiet moment together and care for each other in the only ways they know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who helped FaM reach 500+ Kudos and 10k+ hits!! Seriously, you guys complete me and make everything so much better. Thank you so so much. You'll never know how much it means to me and helps me get through the day. Extra special thanks to [@extranikiforov](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com), without whom FaM would not be a reality. <3

There was something about taking care of Victor that Yuuri couldn’t explain.

It was almost like after all these weeks, all these shared moments, that it took Victor placing himself willingly under Yuuri’s hands to make him realize _this is real._ Victor was all at once the most radiant figure Yuuri has ever seen, the idol of his childhood, the first person he ever truly _noticed_ —and he was also just… Victor. The man who showed up without notice, who loved his dog and spent time with Yuuri like there was nothing he’d rather be doing. He was the man who didn’t wear pajamas to bed, who pushed every boundary Yuuri had, and who Yuuri might just—

He stopped himself there. It wouldn’t do any good when his time with Victor was limited, and he _knew_ that.

It didn’t help that his mother absolutely loved _Vicchan_ and thought he was charming, that Mari made jokes about Victor _working_ at Yutopia, which she knew damn well was a family business. Every laugh they all shared just pushed Yuuri closer to the inevitable realization that Victor would someday leave this place, whether Yuuri was good enough for a gold medal or not.

But—

“I’ve been pushing you too hard,” Victor murmured as he crawled across the floor, insinuated himself between Yuuri’s dangling legs and bandaged feet like it was nothing. Yuuri’s aborted squawk of surprise went unheeded, and when Victor remained where he was with the expectancy that Yuuri would help him with his hair, _care_ for him in such an intimate way—

—maybe it didn’t mean the same thing in Russia as it meant in Japan. With that in mind, Yuuri took the moment for what it was. He was just helping Victor for lack of anyone else who could.

Victor lauded the importance of resting his body as Yuuri combed through the back. He set Yuuri off-kilter as he continued, “...If you get hurt it’ll end everything here, and that’s not what I want. Is that what you want?”

The thought of Victor leaving was worse than anything Yuuri could imagine. He wouldn’t just be failing himself and his country this time—he would have wasted Victor’s time for nothing, too. The pain lingering in his legs seemed small in comparison. “No, that’s not what I want.”

The words that came after, _we should have fun this summer_ , were almost too strange to comprehend. But the thought of spending more time together was too appealing to ignore.

“I can think of a few places.”

Victor’s hair was like silk in his hands, fine and smooth and shiny, and it seemed content to stay wherever Yuuri placed it. Yuuri’s own hair was dense, thick, unmanageable without significant assistance from overpriced gels and leave-in conditioners. Yuuri wondered often if he maybe put more effort into his hair than Victor did—at least since he cut it short.

Yuuri’s fingers traced simple patterns over the back of Victor’s neck, against the warmth of his skin. He was pale, so pale. He’d always been so distant before he came to find Yuuri, lovely as the moon and just as far away.

Victor purred into the touch and leaned back into Yuuri’s hands, and if that wasn’t the most empowering thing Yuuri had ever felt, he didn’t know what was. “You’ll have to show me,” Victor sighed. “Tomorrow, maybe? And for the rest of the summer. I’ve never gotten to explore Japan before. Bring me everywhere. And places we can take Makkachin, too.”

The way he said _we_ was just unfair.

Because that was just it, wasn’t it? While Victor was here, Yuuri wasn’t alone. He had every chance in the world to have Victor’s undivided attention if he could just stop feeling so damn _guilty_ about it.

And at the same time, there was a part of himself buried deep down that took every smile and touch and weighted word that Victor gave him that _craved_ , a part of him that would gladly take all of Victor and more. Would take him from the world without a thought. That was desperate to prove himself with a smug smile and silver hair tangled in his fingers, the same part of himself that had awoken with the first sounds of a steel-stringed guitar and a bold violin.

As long as Victor wanted to be here, Yuuri would do everything he could to be worth it.

“That sounds nice,” he said, and reluctantly pulled his fingers away to tap Victor’s shoulder instead. He had a job at hand. “Okay, sit up straight. Do you want me to just do the back and you can do the rest?”

Victor tipped his head back to look at Yuuri and said, “You can do all of it. I trust you.”

_I trust you, I trust you, I trust you, I trust—_

Every once in a while, Victor said such damning things. Every once in a while he said things just like _that_ , and Yuuri knew that no matter how long this lasted, no one else would ever compare.

Sometimes Victor broke him open, and Yuuri could never contain himself.

At Victor’s joke about mullets, Yuuri’s fingers found his chin and gently nudged his face around. His fingertips tingled as Victor obliged without a thought, just went wherever Yuuri pushed him. Yuuri may have been sitting on a couch in a private bedroom in his family home, but it _felt_ like a throne and Yuuri felt like a king.

The dull buzz of the clippers was the only sound as Yuuri took to the task at hand.

_I trust you, I trust you, I trust you._

That self-satisfied voice in the back of Yuuri’s head had never heard words sweeter. And if Yuuri himself didn’t love the feeling so much, he might’ve been more concerned at how prideful his conscience was becoming with Victor’s attention.

It felt like winning, like ice under his feet, like dancing in the dark with only Victor’s eyes on him. It felt like the music he’d played over the speaker, the rise and fall of notes like falling in love.

Every time Yuuri looked at Victor was like falling in love a little bit.

Yuuri skimmed his fingers along the downy baby hairs at the nape of Victor’s neck. “Do you want me to buzz the very back?”

He flushed at his own boldness when Victor shivered and leaned into his hands with a contented hum. “Yes please. Thank you, Yuuri.”

Yes, having Victor pliant in his hands was its own kind of power, even as the exhaustion of the day started to creep into Yuuri’s bones.

“There,” Yuuri said when all was done and the clippers and the bedroom were silent. “No mullet.”

And then Victor crawled up onto the couch beside him, all toned limbs and skater’s grace with his blue eyes and Yuuri’s mouth went dry. “Want me to trim yours?”

Yuuri would blame it on his exhaustion later when words failed him, when his graceless reply was an affirmative and he slid to the tatami like jelly at Victor’s simple order— _floor._

Turnabout was fair play. Yuuri settled against Victor’s shins as he hooked his glasses over the collar of his shirt. And when Victor started combing through Yuuri’s hair, all bets were off. He melted; there was nothing else to it.

Yuuri loved taking care of Victor. He loved the feeling that he could offer something that even Victor couldn’t quite give himself. But these rare few moments when Victor reached out to take care of _Yuuri,_ those were… like a fairytale. Like a dream.

“Feels good,” Yuuri murmured. The comb pulled through his bangs in a steady, rhythmic sweep that was quickly putting Yuuri into a trance. The pressure on his temples was divine. Victor was so careful, so gentle. Precise, like everything else he did. It was almost unfair that Victor could put Yuuri in such a state without even—

“Tell me if I pull.” Victor’s voice was a rumble, and Yuuri was weak for it. His eyelids were heavy and Yuuri’s head even heavier, falling back until it was Victor’s legs entirely holding him upright. Yuuri could sleep here, he thought. Here in Victor’s hands and in his company, he could absolutely drift off, surrounded by comfort and trust. “Your hair is thicker than mine.”

Mm, but of course it was—he was Japanese, after all. Silly Victor. “Nihonjin da kara,” he sighed, a pleased sound escaping at the first feeling of Victor’s fingers picking a snarl apart, gentle and concerned as always. Yuuri wasn’t nearly so kind to himself.

The tips of Victor’s fingers brushed across Yuuri’s forehead, his temple, the shell of his ear. Yuuri shuddered. He could hear the smile in Victor’s voice, very close and incredibly intimate when he replied, “I understood at least part of that.”

“Mm…” The words took much longer to catch up to Yuuri than they should have, the meaning jumbled and lost. But then they did, and Yuuri blinked his eyes open, never having realized they had closed at all. He leaned forward regretfully and budged up a bit, sitting more upright and trying valiantly to stay awake. “Oh. Sorry. I’m more tired than I thought.”

“I’m just finishing up, then I can trim it for you.”

Yuuri didn’t want this to be over. He’d attribute his own boldness to his exhaustion later. “Um, you can… take your time.”

Victor’s hands paused. Then he huffed out a little laugh that made Yuuri feel warm all through his chest, and Victor resumed combing again.

There was no resisting the lullaby of Victor’s hands on him. Yuuri gave it only a few more moments before his eyes went blurry and dark.

“It’s getting long.”

Yuuri had noticed the same thing. He’d kept his hair short in college, almost painfully boyish and standard. Now that he was home he should do the same for propriety’s sake. But Yuuri had grown up surrounded by beautiful pictures of flowing hair and he had always toyed with the idea of letting it grow. And if it meant Victor might keep combing it, that idea almost had merit.

“I think I—” He yawned. Yuuri flushed a little, embarrassed, and continued. “...might actually keep it. If that’s okay.”

Victor stopped the steady path through Yuuri’s hair, and he nearly whined.

When Victor replaced the comb with his fingers, well, that was a new kind of bliss altogether. “That’s definitely okay,” Victor murmured, and Yuuri shivered and shuddered and sighed at the gentle scrape of blunt nails over his scalp, at the pressure points Victor kneaded behind his ears where Yuuri’s glasses pinched just a little too tight.

If Yuuri had known that telling Victor he could _ask_ for physical contact would result in _this_ , he would have done it _weeks_ ago.

Well, Victor wanted this, didn’t he? He’d asked for touch and comfort and if it was something Yuuri could give, he would. Victor was here for _him,_ Yuuri’s mind reasoned. As such, it was up to Yuuri to take care of him.

Yuuri shuffled sideways, slow-moving and sleepy. He pillowed his cheek on Victor’s knee and wrapped his arm around Victor’s calf, an embrace he wished he could hold on to forever.

Yuuri wanted to hold on to Victor forever.

Victor’s hands slowed to a stop. Yuuri cracked open one eye to look at him, and—

—Victor looked stunned. Wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, he stared at Yuuri and Yuuri blinked slowly back. Before the worry and the nervousness could settle into Yuuri’s chest and pull him away and force a choked apology, Victor’s hands resumed their soothing path from Yuuri’s temple and down the back of his neck, over and over and over again.

And then Victor smiled.

There was a look in his eyes that Yuuri couldn’t define and wouldn’t dare to. But Yuuri _pressed_ into Victor’s touch and hoped that he didn’t need words, hoped that the breath leaving his body in a wave would be answered with _more_ and _gentle_ and _love me, please._

“Yuuri, we should get you to bed.”

Victor sounded as breathless as Yuuri felt, but that didn’t change the fact that Yuuri wasn’t quite ready for this to end. This was the _best_ dream, he decided. Victor being here and touching him was _amazing._ Victor’s hands were perfect, even if the tips of his fingers were a little cold. Yuuri loved leaning up against him, even if Victor’s knee was a little too bony to be comfortable and creaked when Victor leaned forward.

And Yuuri didn’t _like_ being on his feet again, no he did not. Dreams were not supposed to have pain, and his feet were very sore indeed. However, Victor put his arm around Yuuri to help him stand and that… that was okay. Maybe more than okay.

And then he was in his room and it smelled like home and everything smelled a little like Victor, like the onsen’s laundry soap and warm skin. Yuuri would very much like to have all of that at once _and_ be able to sleep—but even the small part of Yuuri’s brain that was keeping him upright knew that was too much to ask.

“Makka, get down. Yuuri needs to sleep now.”

Oh, Makkachin! Makkachin would do just fine.

Yuuri took the two stumbled steps forward to his bed and collapsed atop it, scootching up beside Makkachin with a huff and nuzzled his face into the dense curls of his fur. What a good dog. Makkachin was such a good dog.

Vicchan was a good dog, too.

Yuuri felt the dip of his mattress beside him but couldn’t summon the energy to turn, only revelled in the feeling when Victor touched his face again. If only his bed was bigger, Yuuri thought sleepily. Then they could all fit together and fall asleep together and stay together and Victor wouldn’t have to be lonely.

But Victor retreated because Victor _always_ retreated now. Maybe Yuuri had taught him he _should._

Yuuri certainly hoped not. Then he’d have to un-teach Victor.

“Night, Yuuri.”

 _Stay,_ Yuuri wanted to say. It was a shame he couldn’t figure it out in English.

But the room was dark and the door slid closed and Yuuri was a weak man. He could only resist for so long, and in tonight’s case, that was not very long at all.

He could hear Victor readying for bed on the other side of the wall, and that felt like reassurance. He would have liked it even more if Victor were right beside him, but that was neither here nor there.

Makkachin’s whining sigh was as familiar as anything, and Yuuri fell asleep to the sound of a heartbeat, if not quite the one he’d like to hear.

_I trust you too, Victor._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr.](http://maydei.tumblr.com/post/163620796677/thank-you-so-much-for-500-kudos-and-10k-hits-on)


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